Morsmordre
by rebeldiamondsx
Summary: Tom Riddle's journey from boy to man. Four-shot.
1. Part I

**:One:**

Tom Riddle had always been special.

No, _special _wasn't the right word for it. He was peculiar_, _strange_, _unusual_. _Different.

When the other children went out to play, he stayed inside the decrepit building, silently watching the light filter in from the dirty windows, creating dark shadows against the gray walls. He spent days alone, thinking. Wondering what he wanted to do with himself.

He had been at the orphanage much longer than any of the others had. He was now a part of the place... there was no orphanage without Tom Riddle.

There was a box in his closet. Everything in it was a memento, buttons and toys and pieces of cloth, all from children who had learned their lessons at his hand. The box itself was a memento, a very _special _moment in time.

They mocked him, the others did. Calling him weird and excluding him from their conversations, under the false impression that he actually _wanted_ to take part in their stupid mutterings. He only smirked when they taunted him, because he knew he could make them pay.

He could make them hurt.

The thought of watching them thrashing and screaming in pain filled him with a deep sense of contentment. When the matron wasn't looking, when those dark shadows on the walls filled up the whole room, that was when they would know who truly was the inferior one.


	2. Part II

**:Two:**

Tom Marvolo Riddle was, without a doubt, the most dedicated student at Hogwarts. He had been amazed to know what other wonders he could work with a wave of a stick. True magic.

He knew his way around the library better than the librarian, who had granted him access to the Restricted Section. He devoured knowledge like a starving man eating a king's feast. Books were his escape, his peace.

The Cruciactus, the Imperius, and the Killing Curses intrigued him the most. He could control, torture, and kill someone with a simple incantation. The thought of holding a person's fate in his hands was an immensely appealing one.

_Knowledge was power_, Tom knew, and he wanted to be powerful.

The Slytherins, like the Muggle children at the orphanage, now knew to fear and respect him. They didn't taunt his half-blood status anymore. Tom relished this feeling, but he wanted _more_.

He wanted _followers_, people who believed in his ideals, people who would agree with him and help him rise to power.

Tom Marvolo Riddle was a name that would never be forgotten at Hogwarts. He would make sure of it.


	3. Part III

**:Three:**

There were two things, only two things, that the old fool Dumbledore _really_ knew about Tom Riddle, Head Boy and the Heir of Slytherin.

One: that he never needed a friend, nor wanted one.

Two: he didn't love.

His easily manipulated, incompetent followers, the Death Eaters, were his sheep. They worshipped him. He could tell them the world was flat and they would believe him without a doubt. That was the way he had always imagined his slaves to be: pureblooded, gullible, submissive Slytherin seventh-years to fall to his feet, to obey his every whim, every fleeting fancy. If they didn't, they knew what was coming to them.

On the outside, he looked like a model student-- everything a Head Boy should be. Devastatingly handsome, tall, charming, respectful, intelligent. Teachers were practically at his feet. Any girl he wanted was his. The Headmaster thought he was the best student in the school.

His disgusting Muggle father was out of the way, the Basilisk was at his beck and call, that oaf Hagrid had been blamed for Myrtle's death, and Slughorn had given him all the information he needed, the gullible idiot.

He knew what he wanted, and damn it all to hell, he was going to be an immortal legend.

Oh, yes, Tom Marvolo Riddle was satisfied.


	4. Part IV

**:Four:**

Everyone thought he was selling himself short, so to speak. The most brilliant student to ever walk the Hogwarts halls, the boy who should have been the next Minister of Magic, working as a salesperson in Borgin and Burkes? A shame, they said, a real shame.

But Tom knew what he was doing.

He wasn't going to fall into line like the rest of the Wizarding world after their graduations. He wasn't going to have a wife and kids and a pretty little cottage with a white picket fence. He wouldn't spend his days conforming to the rules of the drooling idiots who worked for the Ministry. Oh no.

He had bigger things in store for him.

He would get the items he wanted off of that Smith bitch and use them to his advantage.

He was the Heir of Slytherin. A legend at Hogwarts. He would get the DADA position, he knew it. He would mold the minds of young witches and wizards to his words, he would make them bend to his will.

_Lord_ _Voldemort_. The name that he made for himself, to cast away the unfortunate common Muggle name he had been christened. It had been sitting in his mind for some time now. He liked it, it sounded _worthy_ of him.

_I am Lord Voldemort now_. He would make the world afraid to utter his name, fear him and his followers, his wrath. He would rule, the world free of Mudblood and Muggle filth.

Like his early days in the library, he was now in search of immortality, of new Dark objects, for what were the Dark Arts but forbidden knowledge?

There was no good and evil, he had decided. Only power and those too weak to seek it. Lord Voldemort was not weak. He would reign supreme, and nothing would stop him...

until a little boy with green eyes and a lightening-shaped scar thought otherwise.

_Fin._


End file.
